


map making

by pfaerie



Series: just gotta speak honestly [3]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Body Worship, M/M, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 04:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13539831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pfaerie/pseuds/pfaerie
Summary: Nym touches him all over, connecting every freckle and mole with a line as if he were tracing constellations.





	map making

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the AU where Alex gets with the farmer & still goes pro.

The tiny bus station is crowded with weekend traffic, sun beating down relentlessly on the outdoor platform. It’s humid, and the summer air is heavy and still, dark clouds looming far in the distance. Alex pulls at his shirt collar a few times to ventilate, trying to ignore how sticky his skin feels. It should cool off with the nighttime thunderstorm in the forecast.

He hears the hiss of old hydraulics and grinding metal before he see the bus creep around the corner and into the first spot. There’s a pneumatic sigh, and the bus sinks, exhausted from the hour-long trip from Pelican Town to Zuzu City. The doors swing open and passengers trickle out one by one. Some veer to the right where a blue-vested worker is pulling suitcases out of the undercarriage luggage compartment while others make their way to the left, frantically searching for their ride among the throng of people.

Alex hangs back, but can’t resist the urge to stand on his toes and search uselessly for Nym, who’s probably waking up from a nap and hasn’t cut into the crowded aisle to get off the bus yet. At least four people cry when they’re reunited with parents and grandparents. One gaggle of girls dressed in Tunnelers jerseys and the shortest shorts Alex has ever seen in public lets out a series of high-pitched squeals when a similarly dressed girl steps off the bus.

He’s so distracted by an over-excited German shepherd jumping into the arms of a man in combat boots that he doesn’t see Nym stand to his immediate right. When he finally does notice him, he scoops Nym up in a crushing hug, his feet dangling in a way that must look hilarious to any passerby.

A month has passed since they last saw each other, and Nym simultaneously looks exactly the same and completely different. He’s tanner, and his hair is longer, spilling out of under his hat in curls that twist around his ears. Summer is such an intense season for him on the farm, and Alex can feel that his arms are bigger when he loops them around his neck.

The hug doesn’t last nearly long enough to make up for all the lost time, but eventually Alex lets Nym slide down and plant his feet on the solid concrete below. He doesn’t let go immediately, lets his eyes rove over Alex’s shoulders and chest. He squeezes both of Alex’s biceps and sucks in an appreciative breath.

“Need me to grab anything?”

Nym hoists his backpack up on his shoulder. “All set, chief,” he says with a mock salute. Most of the cars that were parked by the curb when Alex first arrived have left, and traffic is at that deceptive calm before the next burst of arrivals.

Alex rented a blue, four-door sedan for the weekend, just in case Nym wants to do anything while he’s here. He also wanted to show off a little, driving being the newest addition to his still, objectively speaking, small skill set. It’s proof he’s not entirely hopeless outside the realm of gridball.

They both groan in relief when Alex turns the car on and the air conditioning kicks on. “Color me impressed, Mullner,” Nym laughs, rooting around in his backpack. He produces a paper bag, opens it so Alex can peek inside before pulling out of the parking space.

“You brought the radishes?”

“Of course I did. I brought that eggplant you wanted, too. Are you surprising me with dinner?”

“It’s not much of a surprise if I tell you.”

Nym leans forward to fiddle with the radio, settles on an upbeat pop station, rests his arm on the center console. Alex drums his fingers on the steering wheel, smiles when Nym starts singing. If he were a more confident driver, he’d drape an arm over the passenger seat or rest it on the console and tangle his fingers with Nym’s.

They stop for lunch at Archie’s, the Tunnelers’ favorite breakfast spot. The waitress seats them in a corner booth where the sun filters through the blinds. Alex orders banana pancakes because it’s always a good time for banana pancakes, and Nym gets a BLT and a double order of fries. They spend an hour and a half stealing bites off each other’s plates and playing footsie, make the occasional kissy face just because they can. Nym’s hand winds up on Alex’s thigh no less than three times.

Neither of them are ready to go home quite yet, so they walk the strip for some window shopping. They don’t hold hands, but their knuckles brush every so often, which excites Nym into a fit of pointing and chattering, his face going red and his eyes shining. Alex thinks it’s cute, so he starts feigning interest in displays so he can ask for Nym’s attention with a tap to the shoulder or a press of his hand to the small of Nym’s back.

It’s just past three when they circle back to the car, and this time Alex tosses the keys to Nym.

“I haven’t driven a car in ages,” he says, pulling the seat all the way up before adjusting his mirrors. “You know I used to have this little, red sports car back when I lived here?”

“From what you’ve told me, it stayed parked on the curb because you lived five minutes from your job,” Alex snorts.

“Yeah, well. I drove it all the time in high school.”

“I bet.”

The drive is a little jerky as Nym adjusts to the controls, though the erratic braking might have more to do with the fact Alex is kneading at his right thigh and generally being a distraction. Nym never chides him for it, but a blush creeps up the back of his neck every minute they’re stuck in traffic. “You are such a tease,” he whines when he gets the car into the underground garage of Alex’s apartment building. Alex grins innocently and grabs Nym’s backpack.

He hasn’t had time to really furnish the place considering most of it is spent at practice or training or bonding with the team. He’s still using empty cardboard boxes as end tables, and his TV stand has a hole in it where DePaul accidentally punched a hole in it on a dare. The walls are embarrassingly bare because he hasn’t bought frames for any of his posters. Most of his time and money has gone towards furnishing the bedroom.

“Now this is so college. I like it,” Nym says, toeing off his boots by the door. “Do I get the grand tour now?”

“Living room,” Alex says, setting Nym’s backpack down behind the futon. He points down the hall to his right. “Bathroom and bedroom.” And then he steps around the counter and says, “Kitchen,” before yanking open the fridge door to store the vegetables. When he turns around, Nym is hovering next to him, just shy of invading his personal space. “Hey,” Alex says.

“Hey.”

“So, like, normal people usually don’t eat dinner for another two hours. At least.”

Nym takes a bold step forward, smile lopsided. He pulls at the hem of Alex’s shirt, thumbs the stitching innocently. “What could we possibly do with all that time?” Alex tips forward at presses their mouths together, close-mouthed. Warmth blossoms through him, and he smiles, resists the urge to start really kissing Nym because he has plans for tonight.

“I have a shelf of movies I’ve been meaning to watch.” He pulls away and wipes his thrumming lips.

Nym makes a noise of disapproval. “You’re actually being serious, aren’t you?” he whines, falling forward, face pressed into Alex’s chest.

“I’m actually being serious.”

Another sound of disapproval, this time more frustrated.

“Just accept it: you’re being wined and dined, babe. Well, just dined, since I don’t really do the wine part.” He takes a step towards the living room, and Nym’s socked feet glide across the hardwood, and he has to wrap his arms around Alex’s middle to stay upright. Alex pushes him backwards until his calves meet the wooden arm of the futon and he sails backwards, dragging Alex with him.

It’s not the most comfortable place for spooning, but somehow they manage to get situated enough to watch something. Nym squirms a lot at first, but after fifteen minutes, he settles down and starts dozing. As the big spoon, Alex can really only see half the screen clearly, the other half blocked by thick, black curls that smell like lavender soap. He’s soft and warm, and Alex didn't realize how much he’d missed having Nym around. It should scare him how quickly Nym slotted himself into his life. Alex wouldn't say he's necessary, like air or breathing or anything quite so dramatic, rather he's just...he makes everything so much better.

When he looks at the TV again, the credits are rolling. He doesn’t remember dozing off, but figures it was inevitable. He buries his face in Nym’s hair and inhales deeply. Nym starts squirming again, stretching out until his joints pop and crack audibly.

Turning in his arms, Nym mumbles, “I believe I was promised dinner?” as he tucks himself under Alex’s chin.

“Or,” Alex presses his lips to Nym’s temple, “we could skip that. Because I missed you, too.” He hooks a leg over Nym’s, and they resituate until Alex is hovering over him, elbows planted on either side of his ribs. He peppers soft kisses on the underside of Nym’s jaw and throat, slow and sweet, with no intent to really do anything more.

“I have a good feeling I know what you’re making, and now I’m really in the mood for that.”

Alex mouths at the tender bit of skin just under Nym’s ear. “Do tell, Mr. Gourmet Chef, since you’re so smart.”

“I have done nothing to warrant that nickname.”

“False modesty doesn't suit you, babe.”

Nym rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny it. “I want to take a shower anyways, so how ‘bout I come bug you in, like, twenty?”

“You’re lucky I have a water heater that lasts that long,” Alex laughs, rolling off the futon and onto his feet. He smooths out his jeans and shirt, rolls his shoulders, and jumps when Nym playfully smacks his backside to get him to move out of the way.

Nym stays in the shower for thirty minutes instead of twenty, and Alex snickers when he hears him butcher the lyrics to the song he heard earlier. It works out perfectly because he emerges from the bathroom, thick cloud of steam pouring out behind him, just as Alex is setting their plates on the coffee table. He’s a terrible actor, but at least Nym pretends to be surprised Alex made eggplant parmesan for him. The cheese is a little on the crispy side, and the noodles are probably a little overdone - seriously, what even _is_ al dente? - but Alex feels a swell of pride when Nym goes back for seconds.

When the leftovers are packed and the dishes washed and put away, Nym asks, “So, am I allowed to see the bedroom yet?”

“Oh, that was subtle,” Alex snorts, threading the dish towel into the silverware drawer pull. He shoves his hands into the back pockets and starts towards the hall, walking backwards. Nym follows after him, hooks his fingers into Alex’s belt loops. “I’m, like, eighty percent sure you looked before you took a shower.”

“I’m great at acting surprised.”

“Not as good as you think you are, babe.”

The bedroom is small and deceptively more furnished than the rest of the house. There’s not a lot of walking room because he splurged on a king-size bed and his grandparents gifted him a cherry bedroom set including two end tables, a dresser, and an armoire. Like his living room, there’s no pictures on the wall yet, but he’s hung a few shelves, which are still empty because he can’t decide which knick-knacks should go up first.

Alex spreads his arms out wide. “So, this is the bedroom.” Nym presses into his hips with his knuckles, urging him towards the bed and sits him down on the edge. No time is wasted getting Alex out of his shirt, the article of clothing sailing over Nym’s shoulder and forgotten before it hits the floor. Nym splays a warm hand over Alex’s heart and pushes him down, crawling into his lap.

“Y’know,” he says, sliding his hand up to trace the line of Alex’s collarbone, dip into the vee under his throat, and down his sternum. “I didn’t think you could get any bigger.” His touch is feather-light, as if he thinks Alex might shatter like crystal if he’s not careful, as if Alex doesn’t have five inches and fifty pounds of muscle on him at least. When Nym touches his ribs, he laughs.

“Ticklish,” Alex explains. His heart is beating frantically as Nym touches him all over, connecting every freckle and mole with a line as if he were tracing constellations. His eyes are glazed over, out of focus like he’s seeing something Alex can’t even comprehend in the smooth skin stretched over the tense muscles of his stomach. He sucks in a breath and drops his head on the mattress when Nym’s fingers go below his belly button.

Hot breath replaces the fingers, and then teeth, and then tongue, and then they're all working together to drive Alex absolutely wild. Nym sucks and bites and licks every place his fingers were before, working in reverse order until he’s mapped him all over again. “Do you have any idea,” Nym whispers harshly, teeth dragging along the shell of his ear, “how fucking hot you are?”

Wearing jeans is painfully uncomfortable now, and his legs hurt from hanging off the bed. Luckily, Nym seems ready to remedy both issues, and the third issue of his own pants. They clamber up the bed, sliding and kicking wildly until they're both naked at thrumming with excitement, Nym slotted firmly between Alex’s legs.

He twitches when Nym touches his foot and drags his hand up his shin and then down the soft skin of his inner thigh. He traces that hard line where his leg meets his pelvis, just an inch from where Alex really wants his hand to be, to the jut of his hip. Then, just as agonizingly slow, he does the same to the other leg until his hands bracket Alex’s hips.

It's not the same feather-light touch from before, but it still tickles when Nym moves his hands up to his chest and presses their bodies together. With a relieved sigh, Alex kisses him again, a little wet and gracelessly. “You're _killing_ me,” Alex rasps when Nym rolls his hips just right. They kiss more desperately after that, swallowing each other’s noises until Alex can’t take anymore.

The breath is knocked out of him when he flips their positions. Nym’s breath comes in stuttered pants, lips pink and swollen, eyes half-lidded, a burning flush spreading all the way down his chest. “You’re beautiful,” Alex whispers, his mouth finding Nym’s again.

He’s not nearly as good at dragging things out like Nym, too impatient to lavish him with the attention he deserves. Still, he tries, fingers Nym open so slowly he nearly sobs when Alex twists two fingers inside of him and eases in a third. He’s red all over, can barely string enough syllables together to say, “Alex, _please.”_

“Just a little longer,” Alex soothes, rubbing slow, comforting circles into Nym’s side until he can’t say words anymore, sharp whines hanging heavy in the air. Alex sucks a hickey in a far less easy-to-hide spot than Nym gave him, laps and bites at it until he knows it’ll blush bright against his neck for days, and drags his mouth up to Nym’s ear.

It feels like _hours_ have passed when Alex urges Nym’s legs into the crooks of his arms and presses into him, muttering his name over and over like a mantra. He’s genuinely surprised he doesn’t come as soon as Nym clenches around him the first time, suddenly aware of how on edge he actually is. Nym’s fingernails bite into his triceps, sweaty palms searching for purchase, or maybe he’s looking for any excuse to touch the flexing muscles.

This part is not slow. It’s frantic and wild and great. Moans pour into the space between them. Breath comes short gasps. Springs in the mattress squeal. Exertion burns in every muscle and nerve to the point of pain.

He doesn't know who comes first, just that when he calms down, Nym is crushed between himself and the bed, too blissed out to complain. Alex doesn't move right away, listens to Nym’s heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm. A roll of thunder shakes the windows. Rain beats heavy against the roof.

“Did you fall asleep?” Alex metters, rolling off to the side to stare at the stars still sitting his vision. The noise that comes of Nym’s throat is one of denial. Alex props his head up and rests his chin on Nym’s chest. “So,” he says, fighting back a laugh, “you think I'm hot?”

“I believe ‘fucking’ was before that.”

“That part definitely came after you called me hot.”

Nym cracks an eye open and smiles. “Shut up,” he slurs, weakly trying to push Alex off of him. He rolls to the right and reaches for some tissues on the nightstand to, well, at least make an effort to clean up before passing out for the night. Nym makes a pleased noise when Alex lays back down, kisses him just below the ear before settling against his side. One day it won't be like this, making up for lost time, having to memorize every little detail all over again. Soon they'll have all the time in the world to map out every little detail of each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to keep flooding Alex's tag because I love him.


End file.
